


Prelude

by Ressick



Series: Broken Pieces Create A Beautiful Mosaic [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ressick/pseuds/Ressick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara has a normal Tuesday in Sunnydale.  Class, wicca group, and her job at a bookstore.  It might be the last vaguely normal Tuesday she has for awhile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> This first story will be the only one where I write out Tara’s stutter. I’m not horrible at it, I think, but it’s a very different verbal tic from my pronunciation issues so I don’t wanna fuck up by overdoing it. Just remember how canon Tara talked in season 4, especially early on, and pretend my Tara is doing that as well.

December 7, 1999 (one week before the Gentlemen)

 

Tara held her notebooks close to her chest, her shoulders stooped over as she scurried across campus. It was getting close to sunset and she was already running late for work. The wicca group meeting had been as frustrating and pointless as ever, even with the new girl Willow trying to bring up actual witchcraft as a topic. She sighed. She’d felt the power the other girl had, rolling under her skin and reaching out tentatively into the room. Willow probably didn’t even realize how much she could harness. It was a little unnerving, but she’d swapped phone numbers anyway. Even if it would only get her a foot in the door of the local magickal underground, it’d be worth it. With the magic shop closed, there was no way for her to resupply or even hope to find a functional coven. If she even wanted that; she wasn’t sure.

 

Reaching the far side of campus, she shivered in the cool fall air. Sunnydale was a study in contrasts. The town in daylight was like any sleepy California suburb, full of co-eds drinking lattes and lounging in the warm sun, playing frisbee on the campus lawns. After dark, it was a ghost town, and while Tara knew why that was, it still gave her the creeps. Monsters roamed Sunnydale, and she was going to be one of them soon enough. She shook off that thought as hard as she could. She had a year.

 

The roar of a motorcycle broke into her thoughts and she looked around. It screeched to a stop, a familiar form straddling it. Faith was in her work coverall with her leather jacket over it, combat boots, and her hair was a rat’s nest as she pulled off the helmet. She winked and Tara couldn’t help the blush that crept up her neck.

 

“Hey, cute stuff, wanna lift?”

 

“F-faith,” she remonstrated. She’d always wanted to try riding a bike, though. “D-do you have a -?” She didn’t even finish asking when Faith offered up a second helmet. Looking down, she was wearing boots, cargo pants, and her denim jacket was around her waist. Good enough. She tied her hair back at the nape of her neck and shoved all her things into her bag, tightening it against her back. Sliding the helmet over her head and adjusting the chin strap, she ignored the smell of someone else’s sweat inside the helmet and threw a leg over, tried to settle comfortably for the ride.

 

Her roommate-savior-friend directed her with gentle words on where to put her feet, how to hold on and lean into the bike’s movement once they started. Putting her own helmet back on, they adjusted carefully, Tara’s arms warm and tight around Faith’s waist. Kicking the motorcycle to life, the engine roaring, Faith started the ride away from campus as the sun began to sink below the horizon.

 

Long fingers of red sunlight made the roads almost glow as they arrived in their tiny neighborhood. Faith brought them to a stop in front of the bookstore, holding the bike steady as Tara climbed off and then gave her back the passenger helmet. They could hear the whine of the hydraulic lift across the street at the repair shop where Faith worked. “C-Carrie let you do the test ride, huh?” Tara asked, glancing into the bookstore where Rosetta grinned at her from behind the counter. She blushed. Her boss-slash-landlord often teased her gently about Faith.

 

Faith shrugged, “Someone had to, and I didn’t want you taking the bus. Knew you were gonna be late for work too. You closing up?” She ran a hand through her hair, frowning when she caught her fingers on the tangles.

 

Tara nodded, “It’s my long shift.” Rosetta kept the shop open till midnight on Tuesdays, catering to the late-night crowd that often trickled in after open mic night at the coffeshop next door and the last show at the tiny movie theater around the corner. If no one else, at least Mark would stop by after his shift to browse, and if the guy who did mime with a ventriloquist dummy had signed up to perform, his boyfriend Rob would spend the entire evening in one of the comfy chairs trying to choose what to buy from a stack of novels.

 

“I’ll be by after I’m done,” Faith promised, pulling herself off the bike and strapping both the helmets back on. “Burritos or Chinese?”

 

“Whatever you like.”

 

Faith smirked, “Someday I’ll get a real answer out of you. See ya, sweet cheeks.” She kicked the stand up, and pushed the bike over to the shop to wait for its owner.

 

Tara sighed, watching until her roommate crossed the street safely before heading inside.

 

Rosetta smiled from her spot at the counter, looking up from the latest _Publisher’s Weekly_ , red marker in hand as she circled the books she’d put on order. “How was your meeting, dear?”

 

Tara ducked, letting her hair fall in front of her face, “It was okay. Th-thank you for l-letting me be l-late.”

 

“Oh it’s no worry, dear. You deserve a little time to yourself.” Rosetta glanced down at the magazine in front of her, “I’m almost done with this. If you could go through and put in the order after you’ve double-checked me, that’d be lovely.” Since starting at the shop in late May, Tara had taken over most of the book ordering and stocking from her boss. Rosetta was only in her mid-fifties but her severe arthritis made using the computer for extended periods and shelving books difficult.

 

“Of course. Does anything need to be express shipped?” Tara set down her bag behind the counter and pulled out a brush to quickly fix up her hair from the damage the helmet wrought.

 

“It’s in the ledger, only a few special orders.” She flinched as she dropped her marker. “I’m having a bad day. Do you mind taking over?” Usually Rosetta stayed with her on Tuesdays until Faith was done with work and brought dinner by.

 

“N-not at all,” Tara shook her head, “J-just let me run t-to the bathroom first.”

 

Within ten minutes, Rosetta had left to go to her apartment upstairs, rubbing her hands carefully, and Tara was left to her own devices in the nearly empty shop. Only a couple of patrons were browsing, so Tara felt no guilt in working through the order as they did.

It was a close-knit little neighborhood and surprisingly low in crime given the city’s penchant for mayhem. Tara had walked around a good portion of the center of Sunnydale, and while Maple Court had the most variety of shops, the most popular ones outside of the mall, the owners and employees there were cold. Her little neighborhood, north and west of the university campus while most of the town lay to the south and east, was surprisingly welcoming to outsiders.

 

An hour later, the reshelves back in their places and the counter tidied, the store temporarily empty of customers, Tara looked to the door when it bounced open, the bell ringing loudly as Faith pushed her way in. She could already smell the Chinese take-out in her roommate’s hands.

 

“I am _starving_ ,” Faith grinned, winking. “Don’t worry, I got you something too.” There was a small round table to the side of the counter, usually used for book-signings and displays but currently only had Tara’s pile of textbooks and notes. Faith carefully set those aside as she pulled food out of the large paper bag. “Vegetable lo mein for the lady, everything else for me.” She handed the carton over with a fork and napkins, setting a bottle of iced tea on the counter within Tara’s easy reach. “Where’s the boss? I got her kung pao chicken.”

 

Tara shook her head, “She’s gone up already. Her hands are bothering her.”

 

Grabbing the food and a plastic fork, Faith headed towards the door to the stairwell, “Just a mo.” Tara let herself smile softly as she dug into her dinner. Faith was brash and rude and sometimes full of a rage that worried - but didn’t frighten - Tara, yet she also displayed a rough kindness that she let out more and more as they settled in. A few minutes later, Faith loped back down the stairs and shut the door behind her before flopping on the chair to shovel in a mouthful of beef and broccoli. After chewing noisily for awhile, she swallowed, “I saw mime-guy heading in next door. Rob should be over soon, with the rest of the poor shits drinking coffee.”

 

Tara shuddered. She found mimes and ventriloquist dummies unnerving and had only Rob’s horrified descriptions to go on for the particular act that chased patrons out of the coffeeshop during the first open mic night a month. “Try to finish your food before they come in?” she asked, wiping her lips as she closed up the half-eaten carton. She scrawled her name on it in marker so Faith wouldn’t eat it during a midnight snack and she’d have lunch for the next day.

 

Stuffing a last eggroll in her mouth, Faith nodded, starting to gather up the leftovers and trash before jogging back upstairs to put the food in their fridge. Just as she disappeared up the stairs the bell jingled again. Tara looked up, smiling, expecting Rob with his fancy latte in hand, but instead there was Willow from the campus wicca group, looking curious and unsure. She brightened when she caught sight of Tara.

 

“Hey, Tara!”

 

“W-willow. W-what can I do for you?”

 

“Well, I was looking for this magic compendium but I don’t think that’s something you’d carry?” She blushed, crumpling a small piece of paper in her hand.

 

Tara shook her head, “M-my boss doesn’t carry m-mystical books. Sh-she always lets the m-magic shop do that. B-but it’s closed.”

 

Willow grinned, nodding, “Giles just bought it, but hasn’t got it stocked yet. He’s our old high school librarian.”

 

Tara had seen the ruins of Sunnydale High from across the street and shuddered at the waves of bad energy emanating from it. She couldn’t imagine attending school there, but nodded, curious. “W-when’s he going to open?”

 

A shrug was the response, “A week or three. I can wait, I guess.” She perked up again, “Hey, where are your psychology books? I have this paper due and one of the books I want is already checked out at the library.”

 

Pointing across the store, Tara gestured at the psychology section, “If we don’t have it, we can get it in about three days, depending.”

 

“Okee dokee!”

 

It took about two minutes for Willow to find the book she was looking for, and fifteen to dither over buying it. After a cheerful, “See you at the meeting next week!” Tara was left alone at the counter again, mulling at the force of personality that was Willow. She glanced around, noticing Rob curled up with a stack of books to choose from, three other browsing customers, and no sign of Faith. She looked to the door that led upstairs, expecting to see it still wide open as her roommate had left it, but it was tightly shut.

 

The door _stayed_ tightly shut until it creeped open a half hour later, Tara only able to see one of Faith’s eyes and a lock of brown hair as she peered out. Tara could see her roommate sigh in relief before she slipped out onto the sales floor gingerly.

 

“Hey, T,” she murmured as she glanced around again, a hunted look in her eyes.

 

“Is Willow d-dangerous?” Tara could have let it lie, but some things she needed to know. The power that thrummed under Willow’s skin could have severe consequences if used against them. Against the world.

 

Faith shook her head, subtly rubbing her stomach where she’d been stabbed. “She’s not. Just. She hates me. So if you wanna be her friend, that’s cool, but don’t mention me at all, kay?”

 

Tara frowned, having noticed her roommate’s hand move. She was the one who found Faith, bleeding at the side of the road in the half light of dawn in mid-May. The one who’d dug deep into her powers, rusty with disuse, to knit together organs and muscle and skin until the bleeding stopped and Faith’s own body could heal it the rest of the way. She was the one who collapsed, wrung out from using her magic (her _demon_ , the tiny voice in the back of her thoughts reminded her, sounding eerily like her father), only to wake up ten hours later in the shitty motel barely within walking distance of where she’d found the wounded girl, Faith wearing only a bra and jeans, washing her bloody shirt in the yellowed Formica sink.

 

And yet that day, that led to them fleeing from Tara’s father and brother, her things in a duffel and her mother’s battered hand-me-down travel trunk, she learned nothing of what left Faith bleeding by the highway, had still learned nothing of, just as Faith hadn’t asked about the bruises that slowly faded, the scars and the slight bend to her right pinky that never healed right. Despite all the things they didn’t know about each other, the things they may never share, Tara _trusted_ Faith more than she has anyone since her mother died. She slept easily with Faith near her, had no fear of her despite knowing her strength and her temper.

 

If Faith didn’t want Willow to know about her, she would never hear it from Tara. And, Tara promised herself, she’d never trust Willow – befriending the girl was a means to an end only. The mix of fear and pain and guilt in her roommate’s eyes broke her heart. Whatever put that look on Faith’s face was more complex than she could even guess.

 

Tara patted Faith’s cheek softly, surprising herself as she reached out to touch the other woman voluntarily, “I promise.” Brown and blue eyes locked, Faith letting out a deep breath before breaking their gaze to nod.

 

“Okay,” she whispered, forcing the word out of her closed-up throat before grabbing Tara’s books and notes and heading up to their apartment. It was getting late, and Tara had things to do. She shook herself mentally, got back to work.

 

Fifteen minutes after midnight, the till counted and deposit assembled for morning, doors locked, Tara turned down the lights to their nighttime security setting before whispering the activation phrase for her protection spell. She felt the magic settle into place before closing the door behind her and locking it. Climbing the dimly lit stairs she ran a hand through loose blonde hair as she yawned. The hallway ran the entire width of the building, splitting the two apartments neatly until it hit the other staircase that went into the alley where Rosetta parked her ancient Dodge Caravan. She could hear the sounds of her boss’ television, a low rumble that leaked out into the hall. She shook her head, sure Rosetta had fallen asleep to the eleven o’clock news again.

 

Tara and Faith shared the apartment on the front side of the building, and Tara opened the door softly, not sure if she’d find her roommate eating a second dinner, washing dishes, or out on her evening constitutional. She entered into the large common area, windows looking over the street below, and slipped off her shoes to leave them by the door next to Faith’s boots. With the kitchen to one side and a modest living area to the other it was cozy, in a Spartan way. Only a handful of battered pots and pans, a few plates and cups, her grandmother’s sugar bowl dotted the counterspace and open-air shelves. The small round kitchen table had half a leg missing, was propped up by a jury-rigged setup involving duct tape and a pile of romance novels stripped of their covers. Two mismatched wobbly chairs bracketed the table and there was a couch pressed against the front wall, battered and lumpy and a survivor from the 1980’s, with a mostly-empty bookcase next to it. A single shelf held a motley collection of paperbacks and Tara’s textbooks.

 

Snuggled under a soft comforter, head resting on her pillow, Faith slept soundly, one foot stuck out into the cool of the room and the book she was reading fallen to the floor. Tara crept over, a smile on her face, as she marked Faith’s page and rearranged the blanket to fully cover her roommate before switching off the lamp next to the couch. In the half-light, broken by the glare from the streetlamps below and the two nightlights plugged in strategically, Tara moved into the single bedroom. A double futon mattress was shoved into the corner, made up with mismatched sheets and a warm quilt. Two scratched and dented dressers took up the opposite wall with a laundry hamper in between. Like the rest of the apartment’s furnishings, the dressers were the fruits of Faith’s patient dumpster diving by the University campus that spring, shortly after they arrived in Sunnydale. Faith’s was even more empty than hers, the drawers left half-open and the top covered in a mess of makeup, tools, and knives.

 

Tara sighed at her roommate’s controlled chaos; her own dresser was arranged fastidiously. A single picture frame stood propped in one corner, holding the only photograph she had of herself and her mother, a doll’s eye crystal in front of it, a tidy little basket for the contents of her pockets, and a large candle were all arranged carefully. She undressed quickly, pulling on her pajamas before going into the bath to wash up for the night. She glanced over at her roommate on the couch as she went back into the bedroom, smiling softly at Faith sleeping hard still. It had been a long day. In the dark, she listened for the sound of Faith’s breathing. The other woman didn’t quite snore, but she wasn’t a quiet sleeper either. Over the past six months, Tara had found it soothing, a studied contrast to the buzz-saw noises her father and brother made.

 

Settling onto her mattress, Tara crossed her legs and let herself drift into meditation. There was something brewing in Sunnydale, she could feel it coming. Something beyond the average bizarreness of the town. She had a feeling, that low feeling in her gut her mother told her to nurture and her father tried to beat out of her, that said her life was about to change. Again. And it all centered around Faith. Again.


End file.
